


Mal Dovah

by Rori



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark!Dragonborn, Established Relationship, F/F, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 05:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16320163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rori/pseuds/Rori
Summary: "It was Molag Bal who made me," Serana whispered to you, her words lost in the dull autumn wind of the Reach. "But you, Mal - who made you ?""I made myself," is the answer you choose to give her.





	Mal Dovah

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dark Femslash Week (https://darkfemslashweek.tumblr.com/), for the themes Betrayal/Seduction to the Dark Side.

"It was Molag Bal who made me," Serana whispered to you, her words lost in the dull autumn wind of the Reach. "But you, Mal - who made you ?"

"I made myself," is the answer you choose to give her.

 _This world made me_ , Serana.

"No one does that anymore," she frowned, puzzled, her eerie crimson eyes following the upward curl of your lips, the mocking twist of your brow, as you started smiling.

"Say you," you half-joked, hearing the whole mountain gather around you, every single stick and stone endlessly curious of what an old soul could tell to another.

 _Not much_ , you mused, eyeing the Elder Scroll.

"Do not mock me," Serana mockingly threatened you, her lips uncovering sharp fangs as she cupped your cheek, her hand colder than the crisp morning air against your skin. Up in the air, the bite of the clouds is kinder ; and the sun warmer than the small fire Serana conjured out of words and nothingness.

"I wouldn't dare," you answered, laughing, kissing her dry and stone-cold lips ; even the Night Mother had tasted better, _alive_.

 _Yol_ , had you whispered against her skin in the dead of the night, as your hand cupped her breast and your fiery tongue licked at her sensitive flesh - _make me feel alive_ , she had begged.

_Make me feel human, Mal._

"You should get some rest," Serana suggested, eyeing the horizon, kissing your brow as if you were a child to be put to sleep.

You decided long ago that sleeping was for the dead - whatever dreams may come.

"Lay with me," you asked of her, your mismatched eyes following her gaze towards the absence in the east ; the morning dew is quietly settling over the leaves and the grass, as the fog gathers around the river below - _no sun will rise today_ , you wanted to tell her as she shifted against you, _and neither will the moons._

You had found Serana is the damp darkness of a cave, resting skin against stone as some lay dying.

"I'm glad I met you, Mal," she told you after a moment, her icy fingertips entangled in your hair.

"As am I," you answered in kind, eyeing the morning sky, your palm splayed on her thigh.

Upon seeing her very inhuman eyes open, you had decided not to kill her ; _not yet._

She sounded younger than you ever did.

"My name is Mal Dovah," you told her, not meeting her fiery eyes.

She does not speak the language of the Dov, not as you do ; your were raised by an old dragon in the belly of an older mountain, long ago - you have no name, only volatile memories, and the smell of blood forever imprinted on your tongue.

(It is true that this world made you,)

"It means _Little Dragon_ ," you snorted, as if wishing it was something grander than a childish nickname.

"You do breathe fire," Serana pointed, her loving smile reaching her eyes.

"I do," you agreed, lost in thoughts, twisting a white-blonde lock of hair in your fingers ; you may have the soul of a dragon, but your body was a woman's with ashen skin and fair hair.

A true daugther of Skyrim, as the Stormcloacks liked to say ; as if it would be enough to lure you to Ulfric's side.

Out there, very much like in the Orphanage, you were on your own.

(And that is exactly why you will unmake it.)

"And you bear the soul of a dragon," Serana went on, chuckling, her lips not quite touching your hairline. "I'd say your name is quite fitting, Dovahkiin."

Her candor is lovely, light and sweet ; you wonder what she would taste like, if she was human and you, the vampire - sugared violets, honeyed wine and rosemary ? - but this Serana, her taste is the stale taste of dead, forgotten meat. This is your perfect idea of what your soul should taste like to every single one of the deities you sold it to - or whatever part of you remained after your death, be it by a human or an inhuman hand.

"I have another name," you whispered to her in a low voice, as if you were telling her your most treasured secret, your lips brushing against her cold, cold cheek. "Do you wish to hear it, dearest Serana?"

Cupping her face in your hands, you see yourself in her eerie ember eyes, gazing back.

"What is it, Mal?"

" _Yol_ ," you murmur quietly, smoke steaming at your nostrils, human again but for a few fateful seconds during which Serana gasps as she finally realizes what you are about to do.

You feel your own breath catching fire at the bottom of your throat.


End file.
